The Important Things
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The G.O.A.T. was a test that determined what career an individual would follow-in essence, defining what they were. As to WHO an individual was however, was something else. Something that even the Lone Wanderer had to find out for himself...


_A/N_

_This oneshot stemmed from a request for a Lone WandererxAmata fic. Noting how rare this pairing is in the _Fallout _section, much to my surprise, I could understand. Still, I find that a virtue many see in fanfiction pairings is that they don't need to follow canon and I think this kind of showed in this, becoming more of an introspective oneshot rather than one that meets the definition of a pairing. Maybe that's what comes from living in a Vault...or something._

* * *

**The Important Things**

Adam was bored.

A surprising sentiment in one sense, and not so surprising in another. But considering that right now the sentiment was only expressed in his mind, it was something of a moot point. True, Vault 101-the source of the latter possibility of boredom and therefore not unexpected, didn't allow for the keeping of secrets for extended periods of time, but by tomorrow morning, even if his secret _was _revealed, it wouldn't even matter.

_October 2__nd__, 2274_, thought the Vault dweller to himself as he glanced over at the bedroom's calendar. _Oh for the days before it._

An inconspicuous date really. 2274 years since a virgin defied the laws of biology and gave birth in a barn and 197 years since the events of the Great War, the nuclear apocalypse that drove humanity into the Vaults in the first place. In the light of such events, the second day of October was nothing in the grand scheme of things. As for the _third _of October however...well, that was something else. A G.O.A.T had seen to that.

Grunting with frustration, and not only due to his father's loud snores, Adam marvelled at the idiocy of it all. The G.O.A.T-short for the Generalized Occupation Aptitude Test. A written and oral exam that every Vault dweller had to take at the age of sixteen, determining their careers and simultaneously making or ruining their lives. And while in his earlier years Adam had looked forward to the event, recent weeks had taken a turn for the worse. What with Butch taunting him that he'd be a hairdresser and the Overseer unusually attentive as to his choice of career...well, it hadn't made for the best experience in the world. It was as if everything in his life up to his moment was anti-climax, hence the boredom, and everything afterwards would be a new beginning or the beginning of the end.

Just like he was beginning to feel a sense of worry in addition to boredom. A sense of worry as to what tomorrow would bring. A sense of worry as to-...

_Ah, screw it._

Acting on impulse rather than thought, the teen slid out of his bed, uncaring as to whether he'd wake his father up in doing so. He wouldn't get any support or concern for his actions either way and while the man had given him the occasional words of support over the last few weeks, Adam hadn't really taken them to heart. Hell, sometimes he even wondered if his father had even _done _the G.O.A.T., were such a thing possible. Everyone born in the Vault died in the Vault and in-between was the test that determined whether your life was worth living in the first place.

_Maybe that's a bit harsh. After all, there's not supposed to be anything outside the Vault anyway._

Exactly how the inhabitants of Vault 101 knew that if they never set foot outside was a bit of a mystery, but walking through the dark corridors of the installation, Adam's mind was too set on the near future than the concept of the wider world. And there was admittedly the small thrill that came from wandering alone. It was strange, but out here, free from other individuals, it was one of the few times that Adam truly felt himself to be...free. Yes, he was a human being, but black hair and brown eyes were really the only traits that separated him from anyone else and even that was limited due to a narrow gene pool. Free from anyone else in a Vault uniform, it was only when he wandered alone that he could truly feel like an _individual_.

Smiling faintly, the sixteen-year old knew that the Overseer would have his guts for garters if he ever said such thoughts out aloud. Still, he knew when to toe the line and if the worst came to the worst, he could always use his BB gun. Not that he'd ever really use it on a fellow Vault dweller of course. Not even the Tunnel Snakes deserved that.

His baseball bat on the other hand...

"**Greet-ings Vault dwe-ller. You are up late to-night**."

The robotic sound of broken English came as something of a surprise to Adam. Not so much from the voice itself-he was familiar with Andy, the Mk. II Mister Handy robot that served the Vault and its residents, but rather from what the voice implied. He knew Andy well enough to be aware of the generalities of his schedule and was thus aware that he'd entered the cafeteria.

_Guess that's irony for you._

Getting a glass of recycled water, Adam knew that irony could be either pleasant or unpleasant, such status being determined by who was at the centre of it. And considering that he was at the centre of such circumstances, the irony he was experiencing fell into the latter category.

_Six years. Six whole years since I had my tenth birthday here..._

Ignoring the metallic taste in the cool, colourless liquid he sampled, the Vault dweller supposed he should have seen it coming. Had it been up to him, he would have received his Pip-Boy 3000 _after _his birthday, not during it. A neat gadget to be sure, but also a symbol that he, like every other member of the Vault, was meant to be part of a greater whole, even those like...

"You're up late, aren't you?"

Amata.

Living underground ensured that one experienced surprises in regards to sudden appearances, so having an individual suddenly appearing as if by magic was nothing new to Adam, not to mention that six years of hunting radroaches having resulted in having nerves of steel that weren't about to be broken anytime soon. Even so, factoring in conditions such as the time of day, the fact that his closest friend had apparently been sitting in the cafeteria all along and a feeling he'd been experiencing lately that certainly wasn't fear (or anything else, come to think of it), and in the end of all things, he was lucky that the glass remained in his hands.

"Jesus..." Adam murmured, trying to keep his composure. "You going to make a habit of sneaking up on people?"

"Maybe," said the girl of his age, having no such trouble keeping her own composure. "Still, if everyone's as easy to startle as you, then where's the challenge?"

"I guess it would be...would be...ugh, you know what I mean."

At least Adam _hoped _Amata knew what he meant. A few years ago he wouldn't have given two hoots what anyone really thought of his intelligence, even if it was a universally respected commodity in the Vault (though Butch might have taken issue with that). But over the last few months, he'd become more self aware, taking particular notice of what others thought of him, his closest friend especially. And while he considered himself to be of respectable intelligence, knowing that putting a quantum harmonizer in a photonic resonation chamber would cause a parabolic destabilization of the fission singularity, being around Amata tended to make his tongue loose and at times, another part of his anatomy...well, a bit straight. And sitting down at the same table, he hoped she wouldn't see it.

"So...nervous?" asked the Overseer's daughter eventually.

"Yeah...yeah I am," responded the male teen slowly, not seeing any point in lying. The two had known each other long enough to tell when their counterpart was lying and these circumstances, Adam felt no shame in admitting the truth. "What about you?"

Amata shrugged, flicking back a strand of her black hair as she did so. "I guess...though mainly about what would happen if Butch got more fuel for his insults."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Butch? You think that matters? The Tunnel Snakes are assholes but they're hardly going to matter if we get jobs that...wait. Why are you smiling?"

Amata simply chuckled. "Adam, don't you get it? It doesn't matter what we get in the G.O.A.T. Sure, it can determine _what _we are, but not _who_. And in the end, that's what matters, right?"

"Who we are?" asked the Vault dweller incredulously. "Amata, you think that factors into any of this? What would your father think if-..."

"Screw him," snapped the girl. "I'm an individual with my own identity. The Vault can determine my occupation, but I'm not going to become a cog in the machine without any sense of identity." She glared at her friend. "What about you Adam? Do you know who you are?"

Adam opened his mouth...then closed it. The question was unexpected, the question was obscure, but by all that was holy, it was pertinent. And having worked himself up into a frenzy over the G.O.A.T. over the past few weeks, he found himself unable to answer it.

_But maybe that's the point._

The G.O.A.T determined what someone was, and was hence focussed on answers. The question of who however, was one that focussed on the question. And smiling at his friend, he wouldn't forget it.

Two years later when he heard a stray radio transmission near Megaton, he wouldn't forget her either...


End file.
